


his skin is used to colder bones

by clamshells



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Heavy Angst, M/M, Thoughts of Suicide, coliver - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:37:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clamshells/pseuds/clamshells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it doesn’t take long for connor’s lie to turn into the truth</p><p>or: connor drowns himself in pills and alcohol after the murder, trying to forget, but sober or high, it’s still the only thing on his mind</p>
            </blockquote>





	his skin is used to colder bones

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve never written any sort of addiction before so i’m immensely sorry if this is awful
> 
> title taken from the twenty one pilots’ song _the pantaloon_

He leaves Oliver’s apartment terrified, because Annalise wants him and he still feels like he hasn’t washed the blood off his skin. The whole ride there is spent anxiously itching his wrists, his leg, the back of his neck. The blood is thick and warm and he can feel it sliding down his shirt, but when he looks there’s nothing there.

Annalise walks in a few moments after he does, with tear streaks on her cheeks and unstyled hair. Connor can’t help but think  _I did that to her, me._  He stares at the carpet instead of her eyes, and wonders if this will ever go away. The carpet doesn’t answer, but Connor assumes it would have told him no.

                          ---

He scratches his arm underneath his sleeve as they’re being questioned, and he’s sure the police notice the blood, too, because they take him aside after they finish. Michaela’s eyes widen when he’s led away, the cop’s beefy fingers tight around his upper arm.

“Kid,” the cop starts, then pauses as Connor scratches his arm. “Kid—” he tries again, but it’s as if air’s been sucked out of his lungs, and that’s all he can say. Connor scratches harder, and he can’t think, can’t think anything but  _the blood, the blood, I have to get rid of the blood._

The cop reaches forward suddenly and grabs Connor’s hand by the wrist, stilling him. “You’re driving me insane, kid. Quit it.” Connor swallows hard, and a smile slips onto his face. (He can’t believe how easily, given the circumstances.)

“Sorry, sir. I’ve got a skin problem.”  _There’s blood caked all over it, and I can’t scrub it off, not if I take a hundred showers._  “Just a rash.”

The cop furrows his brow, but doesn’t mention it again. He asks Connor a few questions, then sends him off with a squeeze on the shoulder and a business card for Joan Mitchell’s Psychological Center.

Connor waves and smiles and promises to use the card when the cops go, and they smile back at him as they leave. The moment the door swings shut behind the last officer, Connor folds the business card into an airplane, and flies it into the trashcan.

                          ---

Connor’s on his way home when he reaches for his Adderall bottle and finds it empty. He makes a U-turn to stop in at the pharmacy, and picks up several bottles. He reads the back of one as he leaves the store— _ADHD medication_ , it tells him.  _Take only prescribed dosage. Stop taking Adderall immediately if feelings of extreme happiness or sadness occur, as you may have overdosed._ He thinks, what the hell, and taps a handful into his palm. They look so innocent lying there, tiny blue pills, what could be the harm? and Connor tips his head back and swallows all of them at once, because it’s a fifty-fifty chance, and he couldn’t possibly feel any sadder than he does in that moment. He drives home with foggy vision and shaking hands, and the keys fumble in the lock when he goes to unlock his door. (He giggles when he drops them, and for a second, Connor thinks there’s a little kid on his porch. He laughs again when he doesn’t see one, and he’s so loud that the neighbors glance over at him from across the street.) He finally gets the door open, and stumbles into the house, slamming it shut behind him.

He falls asleep on the kitchen floor, a pill bottle next to him on the tiles. He keeps taking the Adderall when he wakes up (though he takes only two pills, so the effects aren’t as noticeable), and he finds that it helps him to forget everything. Connor feels like he’s floating when he’s high, and his skin prickles under his fingertips. It just what he wants, and he spends the next few weeks lying on the couch, thinking about nothing at all.

(His dreams still hold him prisoner. They show him pictures of rust-colored blood on wood floors and muddy footprints in the entryway and the eyes,  _Sam’s_  eyes, staring right at Connor but not really looking.)

(It’s the eyes that he sees, no matter how many drugs he takes or how hard he itches, the eyes are always there, in the back of his mind.)

                          ---

They take on a new case like it’s nothing two weeks later, and Annalise is back to her old self, pushing them so hard that Connor pours energy drinks and vodka in his coffee, and uses it to wash down the pills. Michaela shoots him scared looks across the table, and Wes keeps opening his mouth like he wants to say something, but neither of them actually act, so he ignores them both. He knows he’s killing himself. (He’s glad.)

                          ---

He doesn’t finish his research for their most recent case (the man moans underneath Connor and begs, “more, more, more,” and he has to think about Oliver to make himself cum. When it’s over, he wipes his hands on his t-shirt and locks himself in the bathroom to take a shower and raid the man’s medicine cabinet), and Annalise screams at him when they get home, because a perfectly innocent girl is in prison for murder in the first degree, and it’s his fault.

(He thinks,  _I’ve ended two lives now._ )

All Connor can do is scratch at his arm and glance at the clock, and when it’s over, he runs to the bathroom and takes as many pills as he can to try and forget how fucked up everything is becoming.

(There was a time when he would go to Oliver for the same effect, but it never really worked, because he cared too much to let himself forget.)

Connor throws up the pills into the toilet a minute later, but even though he’s sure they’re all gone, he keeps the phone next to him for an hour after that, ready to dial 9-1-1.

(Wes sees him go into the bathroom and pounds on the door when he hears Connor throwing up, but he tells him that it’s just food poisoning, and It’s okay, really, I’ll be fine. He reluctantly leaves him alone.)

                          ---

Annalise fires him about two months later. Connor hasn’t done anything but disappoint for the last few cases, and everyone’s noticed. Michaela, who now holds the top spot in the class, doesn’t look as smug as she should when Annalise turns to Connor and starts to shout. It happens all the time now, and he knows what to expect (“Step up your game! This is not a joke, Connor, real people are depending on you! If you don’t fix it, I swear I will fail you.”), but this time she takes a different route

“What drugs are you taking?” she says, and it’s not a question.

Connor takes a step back, shaking his head. “No—” he starts, but Annalise reaches forward and grabs his bag, slung over his shoulder, to stop him. He jerks back, but he trips on Asher’s foot, and the bag spills onto the hardwood. Pill bottles roll across the floor—Adderall, mainly, but Laurel reaches down by her feet and picks up a bottle of Prozac. 

“God, Connor,” she says, eyes wide as she stoops to pick up his bag and overturn it. A bag of pot falls onto the floor, along with the most recent case files. “What are you doing to yourself?”

“Please, just—”

Annalise cuts him off. “Get out. You’re fired. Get out of here, and don’t come back until you get some help.”

Nobody moves. He can hear Michaela’s heavy breathing behind him.

“ _Get the hell out of my house!_ ”

Connor grabs his bag from Laurel’s hands, and considers taking the pills for a moment. But Annalise screams at him to “Leave the pills! Get out, Connor!”

                          ---

He sends in resumes to every store that he can find that’s hiring, and when he finishes, he walks to the pharmacy and restocks his pills, because he doesn’t think he can make it through the week without them. He takes a handful in the store’s restroom, and walks home with shaky steps.

                          ---

Johnson’s, the local grocery store, accepts his application, and he starts on Monday morning at nine. Connor gets there a half hour early, and by the time the actual work starts, he’s drank three cups of coffee. They put him in charge of restocking, and he spends the day piling apples into a box and stacking tomato sauce into pyramids and wondering what everyone’s doing with Annalise. He’s never missed them this much. (He’s never missed them at all.)

On the drive home, he turns on the radio, and cranks up the volume when  _Staying Alive_  comes on. He sings as loudly as he can, punctuating the words with a swig of beer, and he laughs at the irony when it ends.

                          ---

He receives a letter in the mail telling him he’s been expelled from college for lack of attendance. Connor takes a handful of Adderall and rips the letter into shreds, and tries to convince himself it’s a good thing.

                          ---

(He has nightmares about Sam, crawling out of a churning crimson ocean and whispering “murderer” in a raspy voice as he grabs for his ankles. Connor wakes with his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, and lies awake in bed for three more hours, because it’s too early to get up, and he can’t bear going back to sleep.)

                          ---

He’s working the register at work, scanning a can of corn for an older woman in his lane, when he hears his name. He looks up, and it’s Michaela and Laurel, with another guy that looks about their age. Connor nods at them, and can’t help but wonder who the cute guy is. They grab their groceries and quickly switch to his lane, whispering amongst each other. Connor scans the last item for the lady, a loaf of wheat bread, and she hands him a wad of cash, telling him to “keep the change”. He smiles and wishes her a good rest of the night, and then Michaela and Laurel and the new guy are in his face and it’s all he can do not to throw his arms around them and squeal like a little girl.

“Hey,” he finally says.

Michaela lets out a sort of laugh, and says “Hey” back. “This is James,” she tells him as he scans their things (two loaves of bread, grape jam, a bag of pistachios, a huge bag of Doritos, and a six-pack of Dr. Peppers). “He’s your replace—I mean, he’s the new guy. Annalise hired him right after you... well.” She looks at him cautiously, judging for a reaction, but he just gives a noncommittal “Mmhmm,” because if he talks, he’ll start to yell. (“I’m that easy to replace?”)

They’re all silent for a while, until Connor reaches for the next item: a jar of peanut butter. His throat tightens when he looks at it, and he swallows hard as he scans it. “We never used to get peanut butter,” he says.

“Well, you were the only one allergic, so...” Laurel trails off, but the point is made. Connor bags the jar, and his voice is raspy when he asks them to scan their card.

They do, and leave shortly after exchanging insincere “It was great to see you”s and “Have a great night”s with him. Connor smiles and tells them it’s okay, he’s happy now, and they smile and say they believe him, but he knows they think he’s lying.

(He is.)

(Nobody mentioned the pills.)

                          ---

Oliver won’t stop calling, but Connor puts his phone on silent, so he doesn’t have to listen to it. Then he starts to knock on the door, pound on it when there’s no answer. He begs Connor, pleads with him to let him in, to please just let him help him, but Connor swallows pills until he falls asleep, and drowns out Oliver with music when the drugs run out. He goes away after a few hours, and Connor runs to restock his supply almost the moment he’s gone. There was a time when Connor would open the door, but now he plugs his ears like a child and hopes Oliver goes away.

                          ---

Connor goes to Angels, the local gay bar, completely high, because that’s the only way he can force himself to get through the sex. But he needs the money, and he needs the pills even more, so he kisses whoever wants him, and fucks them until they can’t stand straight. He picks their pockets from their discarded pants, and leaves them before they realize he’s gone.

(Oliver comes back later that night, and even though Connor takes the drugs, the guilt keeps him awake, and he sits with his back against the front door, crying quietly, and wanting nothing more than to open the door.)

                          ---

Oliver stops coming, and Connor is relieved.

(At least, that’s what he tells himself.)

                          ---

He’s running an errand when he bumps into Laurel, carrying a pair of shopping bags on her arm. He ducks his head to avoid her, but she’s already seen him, and stops in her tracks to stare, eyes wide.

“ _Connor_?” she asks in disbelief, “Oh my God. Oh my God, you look  _awful_.”

He smiles. “Oh, come on. I’m cute.”

“Fuck, have you seen yourself?”—(he hasn’t; he smashed all his mirrors in a fit of rage when he was high)—“You’re coming back to the house with me, forget Annalise. You need help.”

Laurel takes his hand, and Connor doesn’t have it in him to argue.

They reach the house in just over a minute (because Laurel is speeding). Everyone is in the living room, just like Connor remembers them, though Michaela’s cut her hair to her chin, and James is sitting in Connor’s favorite armchair. They all look up when he walks in, and Wes actually jumps up in shock. Connor grins at them, but they just stare.

“I don’t look that bad, do I?” he asks, and Wes sits back down quickly, silent.

(He catches a glance in the mirror as Laurel leads him into the kitchen. He looks like something out of a horror movie: deathly skinny and pale, with dark, almost black bags under his eyes, which are rimmed with red. His hair is greasy, and his beard has grown out too far, and curls down his neck in messy curls. His left eyelid twitches, and the tremors in his hands are much more noticeable than he realized. He turns away from the mirror, wondering how Laurel possibly recognized him.)

She leaves him sitting on the counter while she calls several people, and Connor tells himself the noose he tied around his own neck is loosening.

(Though when Laurel gets off the phone and tells him he’s going to rehab, it feels like it’s tightening.)

                          ---

He sleeps over at Annalise’s, where he takes a long-overdue shower, and shaves his beard. Michaela helps to make soup, and he has three bowls before he realizes everyone else is still on their first. He apologizes quietly, but everybody sends him encouraging smiles, so he keeps eating until he’s ready to vomit. He offers to wash the dishes, because he has to do  _something_ , and falls asleep on the empty couch downstairs when he finishes a few hours later. It feels strange to be in the living room with everybody, papers scattered around them, but not working on anything, and he listens in on their conversations to distract himself.

(They laugh together when Asher trips over a box and lands in Michaela’s lap, and they discuss the case amongst themselves.)

(William Kraner is being accused of stealing $40,000 from the Wells Fargo Bank vaults, and they need to prove he was framed.)

Oliver comes over the next morning, and walks in during breakfast of oatmeal and buttered toast with coffee. (Connor’s not given any, even though he wants it, and is instead provided with a glass of milk. He knows better than to ask.) He looks just the same, and Connor can’t breathe for a second, because he’s there, Oliver is  _there_. 

They sit in the kitchen together long after everyone else goes, talking. Oliver tells him all about the past few months, and Connor even laughs a few times. They don’t breach any tricky subjects, like the pills or Connor ignoring him, and instead it’s like they never separated.

                          ---

He’s sent to rehab the next morning, with a suitcase full of clothes and books. Connor says his goodbyes with tears in his eyes (he just got them back, and he’s leaving again), and Oliver kisses him before he goes, and then he’s being stuffed into the car, and he’s gone.


End file.
